


For years and years I roamed

by dotfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-21
Updated: 2010-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda for SPN 5x16-5x18.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For years and years I roamed

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: References events from Louder Than Bells (but you don't have to read that to read this). Title is from David Bowie. Thank you to smilla02 for the beta reading and hand-holding.

Dean wasn't entirely sure why he threw away the amulet, and he sure as hell wasn't thinking of throwing away Sam, but the hollow, sharp weight in his chest was pulling him right down and he needed Sam to _get_ it. Not just about Dean, but about how deeply screwed they were -- Sam would go right on saying, _we'll figure something else out, we'll find a solution._ The last time Sam kept on saying that, it had landed at the kind of hurt Dean wouldn't put Sam through ever again.

The moment he heard the light thud of the amulet hitting the bottom of the garbage pail he thought maybe that hadn't been the best idea, but he made himself walk out of the motel room and shut the door behind him rather than fishing the amulet out of the trash or turning back.

He'd had enough of false hope.

* * *

They stopped at a gas station near the Iowa-Minnesota border. While Sam went inside to buy sandwiches, Dean slipped around the side of the building and left Castiel the most useless voice mail message ever.

So, what Dean said in his voice mail was "Cas, we're checking into the Super 8 outside Northwood. You'd better show up or call so I know you're still alive, you dick."

Calling Castiel a dick was probably up there with one of Dean's bad ideas, which occurred to him as soon as he hung up. Because while Castiel never seemed to mind the insults, Dean wasn't sure if he should be still doing that, given where things had been with them, and given that the last time he'd seen Cas, the guy had looked completely shredded.

But then again, Dean wasn't sure he should be doing what he and Castiel had been doing to begin with. He'd been sure when they started, and sure for a few weeks after when they kept on doing it.

He couldn't shake off this weird feeling of guilt about it lately.

Maybe if Cas wasn't better than whiskey at helping Dean forget how things weren't getting better, how they seemed to be treading water with the inevitable bearing down at them. Maybe if he hadn't noticed how Castiel looked at him sometimes when he didn't think Dean was looking back. Or if he could get out of his mind the way Castiel's face had looked when he'd found out God had gone well and truly deadbeat. He'd never seen Castiel puke, had no idea if an angel even would, but Cas had looked exactly like he'd been kicked hard enough in the stomach to need to toss his cookies. If it hadn't been Dean who told him don't give up, keep looking, in the first place.

Maybe if what he and Cas had been doing wasn't quite so heady, if he wasn't starting to feel like he _needed_ it so much.

But they were all so very, deeply screwed anyway.

Might as well bang a few gongs, right?

Leaving the message did nothing to stop the twist of worry that'd been eating at him since Castiel had left them. His thoughts always skidded away, scrabbling frantically, from thinking about Castiel being gone. Killed by his brothers, or just...gone, like to the other side of the world gone or back to heaven gone or wherever else it was an angel could go that was where Dean wasn't.

* * *

He snapped awake into the softly blue-lit darkness of their motel room to find Castiel sitting at the foot of his bed. Just -- sitting there in his trenchcoat with his fingers folded together, the shadows and the dim light outlining the shape of his hair, nose, and jaw.

It took Dean a full twenty seconds to be able to speak. "Hey, Cas," Dean whispered, leaning on his elbow as he half-sat up. "Are you okay?"

Castiel turned and even in the darkness Dean thought he saw a hint of _you're kidding, right?_ in his expression.

Sam was asleep in the other bed, back to them, and Dean was about to wake him up when Castiel reached out his hand and touched Dean's forehead.

He found himself in the motel's pool house. He was getting used to angel travel, or maybe this jump was short enough that he only felt a small lurch in his stomach that settled fast.

"Look, it really sucks about God, I know. I'm sorry," Dean said, and wow, that sounded dumb. And why was he apologizing, anyway? It wasn't his fault God was a selfish jackass.

Damn, Castiel looked beat down. Dean remembered Castiel telling him a few weeks back how hollow he felt sometimes with Jimmy's soul gone, and he had no idea how to tell Cas he didn't seem to be missing anything, he was Castiel, whatever that meant.

Castiel said, "Dean." Nothing tentative about it, and his tone flat, but Dean knew him well enough now to hear the thickness in his voice, the strain beneath the surface, and the request in it.

Still, Dean didn't move until Castiel swallowed, and then Dean stepped up to him, put his palm against the back of Castiel's head, fingers digging into his hair, pulled him in and kissed him. Castiel's mouth pushed against his, insistent, while his hands went under Dean's t-shirt, sliding over the curve of his back.

Funny, Dean didn't feel cold any more, even though the small cinderblock room, smelling of the tang of chlorine, had been chilly a few moments ago and he was only in his boxer shorts and t-shirt.

When Castiel's tie was hanging loose, his collar undone, Dean put his mouth down to the hollow at the base of his throat, touched his tongue to Castiel's skin. The shaky breath Castiel let out and the tightening of his grip shot Dean through with more heat.

They pushed against each other, quick and rough, their fingers tangling together over slick skin, and this -- this was way, way better than whiskey.

After, Castiel slumped against Dean, while Dean's own breathing and his jumping pulse began to slow. Then Castiel released his grip, zipped himself up with a movement that was almost prim, and stepped back.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, felt like one of them should say _something_ , here. But the silence dragged on.

With a beat of wings, a sudden rush of air over Dean's body, Castiel was gone.

* * *

Well, whatever, they had an apocalypse to deal with.

Castiel disappeared for a while, again. Dean had finally, almost convinced himself it didn't matter any more. Then Castiel came back.

He had no doubt Castiel was being literal when he'd told Sam he drank an entire liquor store. Dean envied him his angelic metabolism -- yeah, Dean wouldn't mind drinking a case or two or something without it rendering him completely useless and unable to do what he needed to do, with those oncoming headlights looming larger.

* * *

When his brother and his...whatever Cas was...yanked him out of the path of their glare, that was only temporary.

* * *

The fan in the panic room ceiling beat steadily above Dean's head, shadow of it blinking on the floor against the devil's trap. Same pattern, over and over. There wasn't much else to do but stare at it.

Dean sat straddling the chair, elbows resting on the back of it, chin propped on the back of his hand. If he'd had the energy, he'd scream at them, knowing his curses would carry through the heating vents of Bobby's old house. If he'd thought that would do any good at all. For what seemed like the hundredth time, Dean assessed the room, stripped of all weapons and tools and supplies.

The heavy click of the door sounded, then the creak of it opening and Dean lifted his head as Castiel walked into the room.

Cas stopped and folded his arms.

"Damn, is it hot in here?" Dean shook one hand, and whistled.

Castiel kept on _glaring_.

"What?" Dean said. He was sick beyond the telling of this, why wouldn't they let him do it, fix the mess once and for all? Let him do one last good thing. He'd screwed up everything else he touched, didn't hold out very long in Hell, but he could at least do this. "What?" Dean repeated, more sharply. When Castiel still didn't speak, Dean tried to work some spit into a mouth suddenly gone dry.

With two furious strides, Castiel reached Dean. He thrust his fingers into Dean's hair, grabbed tightly, and yanked Dean's head back sharply. It hurt, a little. Cas's mouth came down hard over Dean's, tongue pushing in, teeth scraping against Dean's lower lip. After a moment of stunned confusion, Dean kissed him back, reaching up to grab the lapel of Castiel's coat. Maybe he needed to hold him there. Maybe he would miss this along with everyone and everything else.

Castiel let go with an abruptness that nearly knocked Dean off his chair. The look Castiel gave him might've been contempt, but instead it made Dean feel like he'd been pulled inside out and shaken. Castiel's face was like when he'd found out God had truly abandoned them all.

The panic room door slammed shut after Castiel.

After a moment Dean got up and started to pace.

* * *

The garbage stink of the alley filled Dean's lungs as he staggered, and then Castiel was yanking him around like a rag doll. Dean's back slammed against the brick, Castiel's breath in his face, his anger incandescent.

Dean was done from the moment Castiel yanked him back there, from the first blow. There was no point in struggling -- he'd punched Castiel once, and nearly broke the bones of his hand for his trouble.

He only wanted the slam of bone and muscle to stop.

He only wanted it to stop.

He wondered why Castiel was even bothering.

* * *

In LA, Sam yanked Dean out of the oncoming headlights again.

This time, Dean let him.

* * *

After the thing with Zachariah was finished, they hotwired a truck, found the Impala at the motel in Cicero, and headed back to Bobby's.

They tried the angel-locating spell Castiel had given Sam notes on a few weeks back. Nothing. Or maybe they weren't doing it right, or angel GPS wouldn't work for them, and Castiel forgot to mention that one small detail. Except like any good nerd, Cas had always been one for details.

Maybe there was no angel to locate.

Bobby muttered "idjit" under his breath, and whether that was directed at Dean, or Castiel, or Sam, or at all three of them, Dean had no friggin' idea, but that was Bobby for you. Then Bobby said they should try the locating spell again.

When it failed, Bobby reached out and placed his palm against the back of Dean's neck. It was so much like what Dad used to do Dean had to inhale to keep from going unraveled. But he let Bobby do it, then squeezed his shoulder in return.

Sam insisted they try the spell five more times before they finally stopped.

The next day, Dean asked if they could try it again.

* * *

 _Hey, Cas, it's Dean, you out there? We're at Bobby's._

 _Hi, it's Dean. I uh...I didn't do it. All right? I didn't do it. We're still at Bobby's, call and let us know you're okay._

 _Castiel, it's Dean. Hope you're all right._

 _Cas, dude, you were right. I'm sorry. For...for a whole lot of shit. Please check in._

 _Check in, okay? Check in._

 _Castiel, c'mon, man._

 _Look, just...just call us and let us know if you're still alive._

 _You son of a bitch I've lost enough and dunno what I'd...you'd better not be dead 'cause if you are I'll hunt you down and kill you in painful ways you can't even begin to imagine. Your woo-woo angel-locating spell doesn't work, by the way, and I'm not gonna...can't believe you did this again you stupid bastard. What, it wasn't enough you got blown to bits by an archangel you have to keep on...fuck. Dunno why you keep...Castiel. Call. Just call._

 _You told me once good things do happen. Well, I've got one good thing that came out of this apocalypse bull crap._

 _Cas, where are you?_

 _Cas, please._

* * *

A few nights later, Dean gave up pretending to try to sleep and set himself up out in Bobby's junkyard in the middle of the night with a light clamped to the edge of the Impala's open hood. He went about doing routine maintenance on her. The scent of grease, the feel of it on his fingers, the ping of the spanner against metal, and the low thump of "Fuel" over the speakers of Bobby's ancient cassette player, patched with duct tape, calmed him. The light drew bugs that darted in and out.

The song ended, along with the mix tape. In the silence Dean heard the beat of wings as a wind chilled the sweat on his t-shirt against his skin.

He gripped the spanner so tightly his knuckles went white, then put it down and wiped his hands on the stained towel before he turned around.

From a few yards away, Castiel's gaze flicked over Dean's body as if he was checking to make sure all of him was there, as if Dean might be missing something.

"Uh, hi, Cas," Dean said.

"You didn't do it." Cas's face softened, the way it had on the side of the road after he'd snatched Dean away from Zachariah's blustering. "You didn't say yes to him."

"Nope."

With a small gust of wind that swirled the dust at Dean's feet, Castiel was right up next to him, one hand grabbing a fistful of Dean's shirt to pull him closer. Cas kissed him, lips and tongue and teeth and heat, fingers of his other hand threading gently into his hair. Dean kissed him back, put his palms on either side of Cas's jaw, scratch of stubble under his fingers, and pushed with his body until Castiel was up against the Impala's door.

They stopped, and Dean became aware that his legs felt shaky. He might've fallen on his ass if Castiel hadn't been holding onto him.

Shit, he should almost say yes to an archangel and then change his mind every friggin' day.

"What took you so long to come back?"

"I was delayed," Castiel said. "I had to dispatch the remaining four angels. And using my own body for the banishing sigil...weakened me."

"Hey. Does it hurt when you get zapped off like that?"

"Yes," Castiel said, voice flat.

"Oh."

Dean drew back. "You all right?"

Castiel nodded, and Dean swore he saw the hint of a smile. "I am now."

Then his face went all serious and unreadable. He moved away from the Impala, the glow of Dean's work light throwing him half in shadow. He reached into his coat and pulled out his sword.

He studied it a moment, then held it out towards Dean, one hand on the pommel, one hand lightly at the blade to balance it.

"What're you doing?" Dean took a step back.

"I will assume you have no wish to kill me with it. You could strike me with the flat of the blade. It is an angel sword. It will hurt me more than your fists."

"Wait, no. Hey. What?"

Castiel took a step closer. "As reparation for what I did to you in the alley. I believe it is only fair to allow you to strike me."

"Jesus," Dean said. He held up his hands. "Uh, no, that won't be necessary. Not gonna use the angel kryptonite on you."

"Dean." He pushed the sword at Dean until the metal touched his lower arm, gleam of the blade against his sweat and grease-stained skin. Castiel didn't push further, only waited.

This was...shit, this was messed up. There seemed to be no way out of it, given the implacable set of Castiel's jaw and the way his eyes looked, so Dean took the weapon from him.

The metal was cold in his hand. Angel swords were light, easy to use -- which Dean thought was weird, because of the whole super-strength thing.

Dean tightened his fingers around the grip, remembering the impact of his body against brick.

Twisting his wrist to rotate the blade, Dean lifted the sword, drew back his arm, and brought the blow down.

Dean halted the blade an inch from Castiel's face.

Castiel's flinch was barely readable: a blink, a tightening of his jaw.

Throwing the sword down into the dirt, Dean curled and uncurled his hands into fists to stop their shaking. He moved towards Castiel, who stood shoulders straight, as if he'd never once flinched in several millennia.

He rested his forehead against Castiel's, touching his fingers to his jaw. A shaky breath stuttered from Dean's chest while Castiel's hand came up to grip Dean's shoulder, right over the scar, the place where Castiel was always careful never to touch him. He put his other hand at the back of Dean's neck, until Dean lowered his head. Castiel pressed his lips to Dean's forehead.

There didn't seem to be anything else Dean could do then but pull Castiel in towards him, and hold on.

  
~end

  



End file.
